We left in the depths of the morning. The streets were pure silence, as if painted on a painting. Only the amber of a traffic light, colored so much loneliness in flashes. We quickly lost sight of the myths of the city. The road was long, we were driving through a dark tongue that engulfed us looking for the sunrise. After a few hours, the silhouette of the lemon trees was outlined against the daylight. The air grew cooler. Along the road, joined in a slide of endless threads, the light poles slid fleetingly, like inert souls before the window. I wanted to count them, but couldn't. At some point I fell asleep in that desire. When I woke up, a black bull silhouetted on the horizon, was carefully watching the roads to the south.